Page 61 of Concluded (The Bureau #13)

Keaton blinked. “I’ve never done that when the, um, target wasn’t present. I don’t even know where these people are.”

“That’s where Dee’s wish is going to help. What if you could target them from a distance? Like… heat-sensing missiles.”

“Um….” More blinking.

Owen nudged him. “You can do it, Kay. I know you can.”

Maybe Owen shared a magical connection with his partner, or maybe it was just a confidence boost from a loved one—which was magical in its own way, really. In any case, Keaton shrugged and nodded. “Worth a try.”

Achilles did his part next, kissing Dee long and hard.

The kiss tasted of ashes and plaster and blood, but that was of no concern.

Dee was warm and alive. He was in Achilles’ arms, kissing him back.

And that was a glorious thing. Achilles forgot that they had an audience, and even forgot that the kiss was supposed to be accomplishing something besides making him desperately, achingly hard.

He might very well have laid Dee down and screwed him after all, Trader Joe’s parking lot be damned, but Charles made a loud throat-clearing noise.

“We should get on with it,” Charles said in his own voice. “Give me a few minutes to get orders out.”

He trotted away, leaving the four of them—six if you counted the ibburs—in a somewhat awkward silence. Owen broke it first. “You two got the angel out of that place. Thank you.”

“You found him,” Achilles pointed out.

“He saved Keaton and me. When we were really stuck, he gave us a way out.”

“I get it!” Dee looked considerably more animated than before the kiss. “It’s more than synergy. Doing what we can to help others, that’s part of the point, isn’t it? It helps tip the balance.”

“Big time,” Achilles agreed.

They waited. There were still sirens and helicopters around and over them. HQ continued to burn. The world still seethed with hatred, fear, greed, and other poisons. But the fight wasn’t over.

Charles came back at a full run, flanked by Tenrael and Ish, and all three of them looking like that ancient image of the devil and angel on someone’s shoulders.

Achilles glanced around and saw that every agent in the parking lot was looking their way.

Even the injured ones. And damned if they weren’t smiling and giving thumbs ups.

“Do it,” Dee said, and added more softly, “Master.”

Achilles looked around for something to use as a charm.

A rosemary bush grew at the nearby edge of the parking lot.

It was covered in tiny purple flowers, and when he broke off a sprig, the scent reminded him of the roasted lamb his mother used to make on special occasions.

It had been his birthday meal every year.

Smiling, he handed the herb to Dee, whose face flushed, pupils dilated, and breathing became quick and shallow as he worked. He was grinning when he handed it back.

Deep breath. “I wish,” Achilles said. His voice broke and he had to start again. “I wish that, for as long as needed, Keaton can extend his reverse empathy to Spurling and all his compatriots, wherever they may be.”

The rosemary disintegrated and Dee wilted against him, trickles of blood coming from his nose and ears. Achilles wanted to sob and scream, but now was not the time for that. Grief could come later.

Owen stood behind Keaton, steadying his shoulders, and Keaton closed his eyes.

“Now!” Charles shouted, three voices combined into one.

Holding Dee tight, Achilles thought about how remarkable Dee was and how much Achilles loved him.

He thought about everything he hoped they’d do together: A comfortable little home to share.

Hours spent cooking meals, reading, watching TV, socializing with friends, making love. Vacations. Maybe even couples therapy.

He laughed at the last thought, which made the good feeling in his gut intensify.

He remembered that his sister was willing to reconnect with him, that she had kids she wanted him to meet.

He thought about the friendship bonds he’d recently strengthened with several people, and how much he’d like to work on those.

He celebrated how brave his colleagues were, and how wonderfully varied they were in species and abilities, and how grateful he was to allies such as the coyotes and aliens.

He concentrated hard on how brave Dee was, how strong, how worthy of love.

Santiago joined in too. He had memories of riotously festive family gatherings, and he recalled the face of every being—human or otherwise—that he’d helped during his career.

He also dwelled on the beauty of the rivers where he used to kayak, the satisfaction in his own strength when he’d exercised, the music he used to blast on his car radio.

Music! Achilles replayed the song his parents hummed and every other tune that he’d listened to, in sad times and in happy ones. Orson used to sing “Oops, I Did It Again,” mostly because Achilles pretended to hate that song, and that was a happy memory too.

“A hero,” Dee slurred, eyes closed, slumped heavily against Achilles. The bleeding continued. “A genuine Greek hero, minus the stupid heel. And he’s mine.”

The final words were so faint that Achilles barely heard them. He whispered into Dee’s ear: “I’m yours. You’re mine. I love you.”

Something… shifted.

It wasn’t a huge change. It was like when the urge to sneeze goes away, when your clogged ears pop, when the grade you were dreading turns out to be a B, when the recipe you thought you’d messed up tastes delicious.

It was the rain stopping just as you had to go outside.

The lost key turning up beside the couch.

The new outfit fitting just right. The cute person across the room smiling back at you.

The gift you chose making the recipient laugh with delight.

The dog at the park bounding over to make friends with you.

The drab plant outside your door suddenly bursting into glorious bloom one morning.

The kind compliment from a stranger. The shared joke.

The embrace. The certain knowledge that if you fell, someone would catch you.

These were small things that didn’t seem like much when taken by themselves. But added together, they amounted to something big. Something good . These were the things that shifted the balance.

A rustle passed through the agents in the parking lot, through the bystanders and the remaining first responders—like a breeze through treetops on a stifling hot day—and in its wake, it left smiles and more relaxed postures.

Some people started to weep, but with relief rather than sadness. Some embraced.

In Achilles’ arms, Dee was unconscious, blood tracking scarlet through the dust on his face and clothing. His hair formed a wild, curly cloud. His breaths came rarely, barely stirring his chest. His usual warmth was gone, leaving his skin cool to the touch.

“Dee.” Achilles’ throat felt thick and his eyes stung with tears. But Keaton was still concentrating, and Achilles couldn’t abandon the effort now. Every effort counted.

So Achilles held Dee a little tighter and hummed his parents’ song and thought about how lucky he was to have had Dee, even if for such a short time.

Dee had enriched Achilles’ existence beyond measure, and if Achilles survived, every day of his life would be a tribute to Dee.

“Thank you for making me a hero,” he whispered.

Death isn’t the end of someone , Santiago said. Look at me. The dead live on in the memories of the living and in the deeds they’ve accomplished.

Achilles felt the truth of this and it gave him comfort.

“He’s stronger than I imagined,” said a new voice. Achilles gasped when he looked up and saw Spurling walking toward him.

Achilles would have leapt to his feet and attacked, but that would have meant letting go of Dee, which he absolutely wouldn’t do.

Besides, there was something off about Spurling.

His gait was awkward, as if he were struggling to make every step.

And if Achilles wasn’t mistaken, Spurling’s eyes held compassion.

“Don’t fucking touch him!” Achilles growled.

Spurling’s smile wasn’t cruel or mocking. “You love him.”

“Of course I do, you—” Wait. That didn’t sound like Spurling. The voice was higher pitched, like a woman’s, and held a trace of an accent.

“Garrick stayed nearby,” said not-Spurling. “He wished to see the building entirely destroyed. But when your friend attacked Garrick”—she gestured toward Keaton—“I was able to step in. I’m not alone in here, but I am in control for a few moments.”

“Are you… Irina?”

“I can’t stay. I no longer belong on this plane, and I can’t undo the harm I’ve caused my son. I regret being a terrible mother. I love him, though and perhaps I can grant one final wish for his sake.” She tore a button off Spurling’s expensive jacket and waited.

This was too good to be true. But wasn’t now the very best time for hope? Achilles looked at Dee, whose breaths were now so shallow that Achilles might be imagining them. He nodded at Irina. “I wish he wouldn’t die.” A sob escaped him; he couldn’t help it.

Irina was crying too. She grasped the button, closed her eyes, and murmured in a Slavic-sounding language. When she opened her eyes and held out the button, Achilles hesitated. What if it was a trick?

Trust her , Santiago advised.

So Achilles did. He took the button and repeated his wish. The button turned to powder, indistinguishable from the debris already on his hands. The universe paused.

Dee took a deep, shuddery breath and opened his eyes. They were bloodshot but aware.

“I love you, Damnation,” said Irina. She sounded far away. Spurling’s body shuddered violently and fell to its knees.

“What are you doing?” Spurling roared—in his own voice. Achilles wasn’t the least sad to hear the pain and rage and confusion. This was a man who hadn’t envisioned the possibility of losing.

“Power and wealth and hate die when you do,” said Achilles. “Love and generosity survive.”

Spurling shrieked inhumanly and shuddered repeatedly.

Something started to peel away from him, and although it was invisible, Achilles could sense it.

Could smell its rotten-meat stench. It separated completely from Spurling with a sickening splorch , hung for a moment like the ghost of a shadow, and then…

ceased to exist. When Spurling screamed again, his throat sounded torn.

Blood gushed from his nose, ears, eyes, and mouth, more black than red and foul-smelling.

He shuddered one more time, then disintegrated into fine dust that settled on the blacktop and disappeared.

“Achilles?” Dee was clutching him tightly. “What…?”

Before he could finish the question, Keaton exhaled loudly and Owen helped him to sit down.

Santiago spoke. Looks like the party’s over, dude.

“Did we?—”

It’s not a win. It never is. But we tipped the balance. You can feel it, can’t you?

Yes. Achilles could. “Thank you for?—”

All part of the job. And now I’ve earned my retirement, don’t you think?

“Are… are you going to be okay?”

Something’s calling me. Not sure what it is. But… yeah. It feels like a call I want to answer. It feels really good. You two take care now.

And that quickly, Santiago was gone, leaving nothing inside Achilles except a tiny scar—one he was proud to carry.

All around him, people said good-bye to their ibburs. “I’ll join you soon, Harry,” said John. “Just a few more books to read first.”

Charles was smiling. “Peace at last, Birdie? You’ve served well past your time. Thomas and Abe will be glad for the reunion.” He shook his head a little. “Townsend, you old bastard. You’ve earned your rest too. Thank you.”

Achilles relaxed into the warmth of the sunshine and then jolted, suddenly remembering the vampires. Their ibburs had protected them until now, but…. Oh. There they were, in the parking lot, looking pleased. Dee’s magic must have truly been long-term. Achilles waved and they waved back.

Somebody had given blankets to Ralph and Edge, who’d resumed attending to the injured, although nobody seemed seriously hurt any longer.

Even Cruz was sitting up on his own. Tenrael had his arms around Charles, and Ish had his arms around both of them, the trio looking like a very strange Renaissance-era statue—probably an allegorical one.

Kurt and Desmond, Art and Jerry, Isaac and Con, Terry and Dash, and so many others. They were still here. Alive. Heroes.

And Dee was in Achilles’ arms, filthy and beautiful and vibrant.

“Master,” Dee said, grinning. “I wish you’d kiss me.”

Achilles granted his wish.